


Marked

by Stariceling



Series: Old Lessons, New Plans [2]
Category: Tantei Gakuen Q | Detective Academy Q
Genre: Gen, Mentors, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-18
Updated: 2007-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinta's curiosity prompts him to prod at one of his teacher's old scars, which brings Hongou to a decision that has long been coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> I love the prickly student-teacher relationship between these two so much. I keep hoping to come back and write the rest of this idea, since it's one of my favorites.

Kinta clenched his teeth in frustration, but he also closed his throat around the angry growl he wanted to use to vent his feelings. Noise would only earn him further sharp-edged comments, and he wasn’t going to give Hongou-sensei another chance to correct him. It was the only thing he had control over, but he was not going to give up that extra scrap of dignity.

Impossible as it seemed, Kinta could have sworn that Hongou-sensei somehow knew the few days he didn’t have work. Those days were never evenly distributed. Most often his time off was only the gap between one brief part-time job and the next, when he would have rather been out looking for a replacement job, so there was no pattern for Hongou-sensei to pick up on. Even though Kinta wouldn’t have put a little eavesdropping past him, not saying a word about those days off for the last month hadn’t changed anything.

Then again, maybe Hongou-sensei didn’t care today if he got fired for being held up. Usually the only sign he was aware that Kinta had time to kill was that he lingered while Kinta was stuck cleaning the classroom. Most of the time he sat silently and looked over files while Kinta fought the temptation to read over his shoulder. If there had been a school-wide placement test he would use that time to grade them. Kinta especially hated that because if he had made the slightest slip-up he knew he would be quizzed on it (even more frustrating, he had gotten his first impeccable score on the last test and Hongou-sensei hadn’t said a word about it). Today he hadn’t been prepared with anything to read. As far as Kinta knew, he had simply been in a bad mood.

Kinta could appreciate that it was his fault in the first place for dozing off in the lecture hall, but he still resented his punishment over it. It wasn’t just that he had wanted to get home and get his first good sleep in weeks. What kind of teacher still believed in writing lines, anyway?

Pausing for a minute, Kinta snuck a look back over his shoulder at Hongou-sensei. It would have been so much easier if he could just hate the man, but he still wanted some measure of approval from him. The fact that nothing ever seemed to be good enough for him only made the feeling more intense, and more infuriating.

“Are you done?”

“Almost!” Kinta twisted guiltily back towards the chalkboard and started to write double-time, making the chalk clatter against the board so that Hongou-sensei could hear his renewed industry.

“‘Almost’ isn’t done,” Hongou pointed out, merciless as ever. Apart from that, he didn’t bother with a reprimand.

Kinta darted looks over his shoulder, trying to tell if Hongou-sensei could somehow tell if he wasn’t paying attention or if he was being monitored based on sound alone. Maybe Hongou-sensei was watching in the reflection of his watch, but Kinta suspected that the surface was too scratched and scarred for that.

He paused, knowing what he was about to do was a bad idea, but he was annoyed and bored and he wanted to test his theory. Hongou-sensei couldn’t have eyes in the back of his head, after all.

Leaving the board almost entirely filled with repetitions of ‘I will not sleep in inappropriate situations,’ Kinta started to doodle in the remaining space. He started with an oversize head and bulging eyes, then a small, round, long-limbed torso. When he had to admit that the first limb he drew was anatomically impossible, he decided it made a better tentacle anyway and started adding suction cups.

In minutes Kinta had a large, sinister-looking octopus. Forgetting that Hongou-sensei surely would have reprimanded him by now if he had any idea what he was doing, Kinta started to doodle a slightly deformed likeness of his sensei between two of the coiling tentacles.

As Kinta drew, Hongou-sensei put down the pen he had been using. He let out an irritated-sounding sigh as he removed his watch and set it down on the desk with a slight thump. He massaged his wrist, not seeming to notice Kinta’s attention on him.

“Does it hurt?” Kinta asked, without meaning to say it out loud. He set the chalk down in the tray, even though he expected Hongou-sensei to remind him to finish filling the board. He’d always had a certain morbid fascination with the scars that crisscrossed the backs of Hongou-sensei’s hands and arms. He hadn’t expected his sensei to hurt there. Kinta would have thought him numb from damaged nerves, if anything.

Hongou-sensei didn’t answer, even to ask if Kinta was done yet. He simply lay his arm down on the desk with an exasperated noise.

If Kinta had known what was good for him, he would have let it lie and finished up his punishment. Then again, he never seemed to follow the right instincts around Hongou-sensei. The fact that he knew better and inched forward anyway only proved that.

There was a bare spot around Hongou-sensei’s wrist, usually hidden under his watch, where no scars stood out. . . save one jagged mark on the underside of his wrist. That seemed odd to Kinta. He thought something must have cut right through Hongou-sensei’s watchband to hit him there.

Kinta was practically leaning over Hongou-sensei’s shoulder before he realized that he really didn’t want to be so obvious about staring at the other man’s scars. Thinking quickly he reached for Hongou-sensei’s hand.

“If it’s writers cramp, I can fix that,” Kinta insisted. The minute he was holding his sensei’s hand in both of his he wished that he hadn’t thought quite so quickly. He was usually good at making up something on the spot, but apparently not when it came to his sensei. Now there was nothing left to do but work his thumbs into Hongou-sensei’s tough palm in a clumsy sort of massage.

Hongou-sensei did not look amused, but then he never looked amused. That didn’t quite tell Kinta if he needed to stop or not. Even as Kinta was thinking that he should just let go he was aware of a slight difference in skin texture under his fingers that could only be the scars on the back of Hongou-sensei’s hand and wrist. Before he could think about it, his massaging motion had slowed and his index finger was tracing out the shape of one scar, right down to where Hongou-sensei’s watch normally rested.

As his fingers explored the band of undamaged skin, Kinta’s eyes were drawn back to the single mark on the underside of Hongou-sensei’s wrist. The few times he had traced his sensei’s scars with his eyes he had thought how he wanted that. Not the marks themselves, but the experience they represented. Yet, none of them had drawn him in the way this one did. It seemed so out of place compared to the others. All the rest had obviously been made by Hongou-sensei defending himself, and were scattered over the back of his arm.

Kinta ran his thumb over the scar, then repeated the gesture more slowly, as if feeling out the texture for himself would somehow help him understand the mark. “How did you get this one?” he asked, tracing it with his thumb for the third time. It fascinated him. How deep had the cut been? It must have hurt, must have spilled blood everywhere even if it was a mercifully shallow wound. Who could have done that to his sensei?

“There is a reason I wear a heavy watch.”

Kinta froze. There was something about the rough sound of Hongou-sensei’s voice that reminded him that he was in a dangerous position. He suddenly wondered if his sensei had just been waiting for him to do something inappropriate so he would be caught in the act. He didn’t know what to think of the wry smile tugging at Hongou-sensei’s lips when he dropped his hand and stepped back.

“Sorry! I wasn’t trying to pry.” Kinta backed up toward the chalkboard with the other man’s eyes still on him.

“Tooyama-kun, what is _that_?”

Kinta knew by the disapproving tone that he was sunk. He glanced over his shoulder, not quite wanting to take his eyes off of his inplacatable sensei long enough to check what he was looking at. His doodle was still there, though he’d foolishly forgotten about it.

“That would be you,” he finally said, sure there was no way he could dig himself any deeper into trouble, “being eaten by an octopus.”

Kinta steeled himself for what he was sure would have to follow, some painfully well-deserved remark that would leave his pride in shreds. Or at least, what remained of it after giving in to curiosity and feeling up Hongou-sensei’s hand.

Instead all that happened was Hongou-sensei’s hand clapping him on the shoulder. It was not a friendly gesture, pushing him so that his back touched the board, but there was no way to mistake it for an outright attack. When Hongou-sensei squeezed his shoulder the force of his grip wasn’t anywhere near enough to make Kinta wince.

“I expect any student of mine to be responsible for their actions. Erase that picture and do it right.”

“Yessir!” Kinta grabbed the eraser and obliterated his octopus before Hongou-sensei could tell him to erase everything on the board and start over. He couldn’t believe he was getting off so easy, especially since Hongou-sensei only seemed annoyed that he had been goofing off, and not at his ‘inappropriate’ indulgence in curiosity.

Hongou-sensei ignored him. He picked up his watch from the desk and put it back on one-handed. Though Kinta watched out of the corner of his eye at the jagged scar he was so interested in was hidden again from view, he knew better than to push his luck and ask about it again. If Hongou-sensei wanted to tell him, he would have. Kinta accepted that he would have to either wonder about it. . . or pry into things that could get him into very deep trouble with someone who could make his life very hard.

Tucking that last idea into the back of his mind so he could weigh his options on his own time, Kinta picked up the chalk again. He started to write, not faltering when Hongou-sensei left the classroom. For all he knew this was some sort of test. Well, Kinta didn’t intend to fail this time. He was just going to finish his task so he could wash the board and go home.

Still. . . writing lines left his mind free to wonder. Just how had Hongou-sensei gotten that scar?

* * *

Hongou stood just outside the door for a moment, listening to the muted clack of chalk as Kinta finished his task. Next time, he decided, he would be sure to give his student a practical punishment. Even though Kinta would undoubtably enjoy working with his hands more than writing lines–which was the only task Hongou thought tedious enough to fit with falling asleep during a lecture–at least there would be something to show for it at the end.

Without thinking about it, he found himself rubbing his thumb along the bottom of his watchband, feeling it press into his wrist. He somehow couldn’t shake the feeling of Kinta’s thumb stroking the underside of his wrist, tracing a scar he’d practically forgotten about himself.

He had meant to go talk to Dan-sensei about his class again, but he didn’t start towards the main building. Almost every week since he had started watching over Q-class he had stopped to discuss their progress with Dan-sensei, always feeling for the slightest hint that a replacement for his position at DDS had finally been found. He had never felt the slightest inclination towards teaching. He knew he didn’t have the patience to guide children, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his students still resented that side of him, even though they were mostly used to each other now.

Hongou didn’t think this week’s discussion would have quite the same tone. Somehow, in the moment when he felt Kinta trace that single scar, he was hit by an irrevocable decision. At the very least, his students would not go out into the world unprepared. In that moment Kinta became _his_ student, and he knew he would never consider giving his training up into the hands of some replacement.

Dan-sensei would pick up on the change, of course. At least he wouldn’t comment on it when Hongou stopped fishing for a reprieve. In fact, Hongou suspected he would even understand. If anyone could appreciate Hongou’s desire to prod Kinta to excel (even though he sometimes seemed to be the one almost ordinary student in a class of half-trained geniuses), it would have to be Dan-sensei.

Hongou pressed his thumb hard against his watchband as he thought, until it pinched painfully at the skin around that old scar. Hongou was determined that with his teaching, Kinta would never bear a similar mark.


End file.
